


Mr. & Mrs. Smith

by eris_of_imladris



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bad Puns, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 15:17:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17004099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eris_of_imladris/pseuds/eris_of_imladris
Summary: Summary: Fëanor and Nerdanel bad-pun their way to getting engaged. Inspired by this forge name generator!http://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/blacksmith-names.php





	Mr. & Mrs. Smith

“It cannot have an ordinary name,” Fëanáro said as he paced around the empty space again. “This place will be where my works come to life, it cannot be named like every other forge in Tirion.”

“What does its name matter? All that matters is the work you do, which will be excellent no matter where you do it,” replied Nerdanel, who sat on a low stool nearby, tossing a small lump of clay between her hands.

“The name is how people will know the works - my works - and I can have nothing but the best.”

“People will know it is the best if it comes from you, even if the place has no name at all,” she reassured him.

“It needs something noble, something dignified…”

“You should work on a project here and see what comes to you. Your inspiration is legendary, after all,” Nerdanel suggested, pinching two corners of the clay before frowning and squishing them down again.

“No, I need to hammer out this name before I can start on anything else. It is very important.”

“Hammer it out?” Nerdanel asked, a grin creeping its way across her face. “Really, Fëanáro?”

It took the dark-haired elf a moment to understand it, and he let out a sudden laugh. “That was intentional,” he insisted even as his cheeks flushed.

“Of course it was,” Nerdanel giggled. “Only the best from you, yes?”

Fëanáro puzzled a bit. “Well, it was rather unique, and that is what would be best…”

“Please don’t tell me…”

“He Who Smelt It,” Fëanáro announced proudly. “And the ‘it’ can be my masterwork, as soon as I figure out what that will be.”

“No. Absolutely not,” Nerdanel said, getting up from her stool and slapping the clay down on its surface. “You cannot mar this beautiful new forge with a name like that, no one will ever take you seriously again!”

“I thought you said people would take me seriously by my work, Nerdanel. Did you lie to me, perchance?” There was a twinkle in his eye, something that Nerdanel couldn’t help but respond to.

“No one will take you seriously if you call your forge He Who Smelt It. Honestly, it would be like buying from a child, and everyone knows a child cannot - ” She paused as Fëanáro opened his mouth. “Except for you, of course, O Gifted One. Pardon me for questioning your genius. I should pay for crafts you made the moment you were born.”

“You should not question my genius,” he ribbed. “Ore Else.”

“Or else what?” Nerdanel asked, then when his eyebrow raised, “Fëanáro!”

“I thought you would smelt in my arms at that one,” Fëanáro said.

“I have no idea why I even associate with you,” Nerdanel replied, before promptly scooping up the clay and prodding at it again.

“I thought it was something about the genius,” said Fëanáro smugly.

“No one would call either of those names genius, no matter how much they want your family to like them.”

“I will come up with one, you know. There is no question about it. Ingot this.” The lump of clay flew towards Fëanáro, who dodged it as it splattered on the floor. “That was unnecessary. And rather messy.” Fëanáro peered down at the clay, then tried to look angry at Nerdanel.

“So was that last thing you said, it was absolutely horrid.”

“I thought you told me just last week that you enjoyed our talks.”

“I do,” Nerdanel said, bending down to pick up the clay, “when they involve intelligence greater than the smallest elfling could muster.”

There was no reply as Fëanáro put his hands in the pocket of the apron he wore, and Nerdanel wondered for a moment if she’d gone too far. Just as she was about to apologize and end the game, he spoke first: “We could always go with Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

“You are not married,” Nerdanel replied with a strange flutter in her chest.

“Are you sure about that?” A ring flashed from his pocket, its ruddy gemstone polished to perfection.

Nerdanel stared down for several long moments, then looked up again. “Does this come with a sculpting studio attached to the side of the forge?”

“Of course,” Fëanáro said, leaning in for a kiss.

When their lips separated, she whispered in his ear, “What about By Hammer And Hand? That would accommodate both of our crafts.”

Fëanáro paused. “That has a nice ring to it.”

It took Nerdanel almost no time to decode the mischief in his eyes. “Fëanáro!”


End file.
